


Third Time's A Charm

by EAU1636



Category: Boyfriend Material - Alexis Hall
Genre: Accidentally a little angsty, Awkward Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Hedgehogs, M/M, Oliver's POV, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EAU1636/pseuds/EAU1636
Summary: Set before Boyfriend Material. Oliver and Luc's second encounter, and a flashback to their first, from Oliver's POV.
Relationships: Oliver Blackwood/Luc O'Donnell
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51





	Third Time's A Charm

The bartender sauntered over, and I ordered a club soda with lime. The trendy hotel bar was crowded with patrons in varying degrees of intoxication, most of them here for the same reason I was, to celebrate Bridget Welles’ birthday. I’d had two glasses of wine already and couldn’t allow myself any more empty calories tonight. I didn’t actually like club soda, but moderation was more important than enjoyment.

I reluctantly took a sip, my eyes roaming across the bar, until they landed on a mop of disheveled, dark curls falling over a pale, sharp face. Striking blue eyes beneath ludicrously long, dark lashes. A dangerously gentle mouth, hidden behind bitten lips. The man wasn’t handsome. No, nothing so harmless as that. Luc O’Donnell was beautiful. As he made his way over I couldn't decide if I was glad or horrified that he seemed to remember me. Our first meeting had not been one of my finer moments.

Bridget had invited me to a work event a few months back, nothing I’d particularly wanted to attend, but I’d felt obligated to support her career endeavours. Before the party she’d made countless unsubtle mentions of a friend of hers she was eager for me to meet. I’d done my best to dissuade her from matchmaking. There was no point, when I never seemed to offer what anyone wanted, at least not long term.

Bridget had been quick to swoop in when I’d arrived, and had led me over to the friend she’d been so eager for me to meet. Lucien stood with his arms folded, chin jutting out stubbornly, mouth smirked into a challenge. He’d worn a plum v-neck t-shirt, fitted enough to show off his lean frame, and agonizingly tight black jeans. If I’d seen him in a bar I would have been unable to take my eyes off of him, and would never in a million years have approached him. And with good reason, apparently, since when Bridget deposited me in front of him like some sort of offering, he looked intensely annoyed.

“Well, I’d best go make the rounds,” Bridget had cooed, after making introductions. “I’ll just leave you two here to chat. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to talk about.”

Of course. Except somehow I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I’d chatted with the peerage and conferred with unpredictable clients and stood before judges known for their wire thin patience and biting words. I prided myself on my ability to make polite conversation with anyone. But right then I found I could hardly remember my own name. I just stared at him, each second growing ever more mortifying, like some kind of perverse, public torture. I knew Lucien must be trying to think of a way to extricate himself from the hideous encounter with the boring, creepily silent man he’d been forced together with. He had a wry smile on his face, and I wondered if he was resisting the urge to laugh at me.

And then, because apparently the situation wasn’t frightful enough, an inebriated woman in alarmingly high heels had wobbled up, and asked in a patronizing, saccharine sweet voice if we were a couple.

I don’t often get angry. Behavior is best governed by a strong conscience, not fleeting emotions. But I found myself unaccountably furious. Furious at this stranger for asking such a probing question, furious at Bridget for assuming that her two gay friends must be a match despite the fact that I was clearly the last thing Lucien was looking for, and furious at myself for wishing the answer could be yes, when Lucien was clearly so horrified by the idea that he couldn’t even respond.

“No,” I replied coolly, biting back my anger. “This is just another homosexual I’m standing next to.”

The woman had made a mildly embarrassed apology, and then Lucien had made an unconvincing attempt to pretend he saw someone he knew across the room, and had promptly made his escape. I hadn’t seen him again that night and had hoped I wouldn’t run into him tonight either, so as not to mortify myself once again. No such luck, apparently.

Now Lucien strolled up and stood silent for a moment, giving me an unabashedly slow and studying look, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I felt my cheeks flush and reached for my drink to give my mouth something to do other than openly salivate. His lips quirked up into a roguish grin and my stomach flipped over.

“Oliver Blackwood,” he said, sliding in beside me. God, his mouth made my name sound like something illicit and irresistible, made me imagine for a moment I could be something worth wanting. He was so close now I could feel the barest brush of his body against mine. 

I glanced over and tried to pin down precisely what it was about him that seemed to turn me inside out. Not just his looks, though he was undeniably arresting. There was something more, a fearlessness to him, a refusal to be anything other than what he was. He seemed so effortlessly free. He was everything I’d never been and could never have.

He moved closer, so our shoulders pressed gently together, that small spot of connection warm as a lit flame. He turned to look at me, pressing his lips together before meeting my eyes. His cheeks held a ruddy glow and those blue eyes, always bright, were glassed over, his gaze unfocused. I felt my chest tighten as I took in the way his body swayed against mine, ever so slightly, the way his hand trembled a little as it gripped his glass.

“Come back to mine.” The words slipped out of his mouth so easily, like they meant nothing. And for him they probably did.

“We’ve barely even spoken.” I tried to keep my voice light, though my heart felt heavy as an anchor. He bit his lip, and for just a moment his eyes held something fragile, maybe even a little broken.

“Does it matter?” The edges of his words were slurred, his tone bitter. “Neither of us will be better off if you get to know me. You’ve pulled. Isn’t that enough?”

He gulped down the last of his drink, and I turned away, so as not to watch his pale throat working.

“You’re drunk, Lucien.” Somehow the words came out a reprimand, when all I actually felt was regret.

“I’m pleasantly numb. It’s a party. Drinking’s what we mortals do to pass the time. Half the people here are thoroughly pissed.”

“You’re probably right. But I don’t think it would be prudent for us to do anything while you’re intoxicated that you might regret once you’re sober.”

He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “D’you really talk like that all the time or are you just doing it to fuck with me?”

“I assure you I’m not trying to do anything but converse with you.”

“Alright. Message received. Just forget I said anything. After last time, I don’t know why I even thought...” He trailed off, shaking his head and swaying a little on his feet. “I’m just gonna get another drink and I’ll be out of your perfect hair. Sure I can find some company elsewhere.”

He leaned forward and attempted to wink, but ended up with both eyes closed, and fell against me. I reached out and grabbed his elbow, trying to steady him. He righted himself, but his head stayed pressed against my chest. He took a deep breath, and I wondered for a wild moment if he liked the scent of my cologne. Wishful thinking. No doubt he was just taking a moment to pull himself together. He raised his head and stepped away, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to pull him back.

“Goodnight.” He tipped an imaginary hat, attempted a stumbling bow, and turned to walk away.

“Wait!” The word was out of my mouth before I had a chance to think. He turned back, shoulders braced and face blank.

“You shouldn’t...” I began. “I mean, what if...”

_What if someone hurts you? What if you do something you regret? What if you walk away now and I never see you again?_

“I’ll get a room,” I blurted out.

Nothing would happen, apart from him being tucked safely in bed. But no need to tell him that. We were already in a hotel, and the cost of a room was well worth not having to endure the awkwardness of extricating myself from his home, where he no doubt would never have invited me if his decision making wasn’t impaired.

A smile crossed his lips, more smug than pleased, and he held out his arm. “Shall we?”

I threaded my elbow through his, trying not to notice the way his warm body leant against mine as we walked towards the lobby.

We stood in front of the exhausted looking young man at the gleaming check in desk. Lucien was pressed against my side, probably because it helped keep him standing upright.

“I’d like a room please,” I said, reaching for my wallet.

The feel of Lucien’s thigh against my hand as I fumbled in my trouser pocket made my breath hitch. He seemed to notice, because he turned his face up to mine, grinning, and pressed himself even closer.

“Certainly, sir. Would you like two twin beds or a single king?”

“A single will be fine, thank you.” My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Lucien giggled. “Nothing untoward here,” he assured the hotel clerk, with another double eyed attempt at a wink. “Just two homosexuals standing next to one another. Getting a room. With a single king size bed. All quite above board, I assure you.” He nudged me with his pointy elbow.

The clerk, completely unphased, handed me a room key. “Room 516. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

“And you yours,” Lucien replied, bestowing a dignified nod before promptly falling over as I stepped away.

I wrapped an arm around him and shepherded him towards the lift. I held him against me as we waited and he nuzzled his face into my neck, his eyes heavy lidded. When the doors opened, we stepped inside and I pressed the button for the fifth floor.

“Very impressive,” Lucien mumbled. “I can press buttons too.” He proceeded to press every button from two to seven. I pulled his hand away, and he threaded his fingers through mine, capturing my hand with his own.

A haughty looking elderly woman in a garish green coat entered the lift just before the doors closed, positioning herself as far away from us as the space allowed.

“Seventh floor please,” she instructed in a reedy voice. Her eyes grew wide with disapproval as she noticed the buttons for every floor were already lit. She scowled and gave an indignant shake of her head.

As we reached the second floor and the doors opened onto an empty hallway, the woman glared over at us.

“I’m terribly sorry,” I said. “There was some confusion over our floor number.”

“Confusion over who’s best at pressing buttons, more like,” Lucien scoffed. He pointed proudly at himself, to make it clear who was the victor. Then he leaned over to stare at the woman. She had an enormous gold hedgehog brooch pinned to her coat, and Lucien seemed entranced by it.

“We match.” He gave an approving nod to the hideous brooch. “I congratulate you on your excellent taste.”

She looked over at him suspiciously, and he reached into the top of his jeans and pulled up the edge of his boxers, holding them out towards the horrified woman. I could just make out a series of tiny white hedgehogs on the blue fabric. I cleared my throat in a desperate attempt to keep from laughing and turned Lucien towards me, wrapping my arm around his side to cover the offending undergarments still sticking up over his waistband.

He mumbled something into my shoulder and I gently tipped his chin up so his words wouldn’t be muffled.

“What did you say?”

“Mon petit hérisson,” he sighed.

“My little hedgehog?”

“One of mum’s nicknames for me. Because I’m prickly. To protect myself.”

“I see.” I couldn’t hide the tenderness in my voice, but he was well past noticing anyway.

“Do I need to protect myself from you?” He asked, sounding sleepy and confused.

“No,” I assured him. “No, Lucien, you’re safe with me.”

“S’what I thought,” he whispered, and laid his head against my chest.

When the doors finally opened on the fifth floor, I gently nudged him and guided him out of the lift.

“Hmmm,” he groaned. “You make a good pillow.”

We reached the room and Lucien shook the door handle.

“S’locked,” he declared. “S’alright. Hallway’s fine.”

I shook my head and slid the key card in, pressing down on the handle to open the door. Lucien stumbled into the room and I followed, the door closing behind with a click.

He turned to face me, and began working clumsily to unbutton my shirt. I could smell the bright, citrusy scent of his hair, the salt of his skin, the sharp tang of alcohol on his breath.

“Always so buttoned up,” he chided.

“Go sit on the bed, Lucien.”

If it came out sounding like a command, he didn’t seem to mind. With cautious, swaying steps he made his way over to the bed and plopped down to sit on the edge. I walked over and turned on the bedside lamp, then lowered to kneel in front of him.

Lucien made a soft whimpering sound. I swallowed, ignoring the tight feeling in my throat, and bent down to untie his shoe. He huffed out a low laugh.

“Very meticulous,” he teased. His voice was thick and slow, his eyes already half-closed.

“You have no idea.” I carefully slid off one shoe, and then the other, placing them neatly in front of the nightstand.

“Lie down,” I instructed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“This pillow isn’t half as comfy as you,” he grumbled.

I grabbed one of the drinking glasses off of the desk and filled it with cool water from the bathroom tap. Then I took a deep breath and headed back towards the bed.

Lucien was curled into a ball, fast asleep, hand resting beneath his head, knees tucked up near his chest. I set the glass down on the nightstand as quietly as I could and pulled a blanket up from the end of the bed, draping it over him and tucking it carefully around his shoulders. His lips were parted slightly, breath coming slow and deep, dark eyelashes brushing against the smooth skin of his cheek.

 _Mon beau hérisson_. I bent down to gently brush a dark lock of hair back from his eyes and he let out a contented sigh.

I thought of writing a note on the hotel stationery. I could leave my number and wait and hope. But any evidence of me would probably only serve as an embarrassing reminder. He would surely regret all of this tomorrow. It was only the alcohol that had made him approach me in the first place. I wouldn’t stand a chance in the sober light of day.

I walked to the door and allowed myself one last glance back at him, safe and sleeping. I remembered the feel of that dark head of curls resting against my chest. How painfully right it had felt to be someone Lucien could lean against when he needed to, how good it had felt to be _someone_ to him, even if it was only for a little while, even if it wasn’t real.

“Good night, Lucien,” I whispered, and slipped silently out the door.


End file.
